


No One Handed Me Papers

by Anonymous



Series: Templar Twin AU [3]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Anything is Better than Ethan, Crawford is a Reluctant Parent, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It is a Templar's Moral Duty to Rub Their Superiority in an Assassin's Face
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28754502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It took Crawford Starrick three months to realize he'd become a father.
Relationships: Crawford Starrick & Evie Frye, Crawford Starrick & Jacob Frye, Evie Frye & Jacob Frye
Series: Templar Twin AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068098
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20
Collections: anonymous





	No One Handed Me Papers

To Crawford Starrick's embarrassment, it took him three months before he realized he was now a father.

The twins weren't of his blood, but somehow, he found himself agreeing to a small celebration in honor of young Evie's recovery. Then a slightly bigger one, when, somehow, he was convinced of the cruelty of turning two children back out onto the street a scant four days before Christmas. 

The wonder in their small faces as they were treated to what one might consider a small and modest feast made that sensation in his chest twist again.

It didn't help that they were both so very interesting. Both were quick studies, but it was Evie who was fascinated by his extensive library, and given that she could already read, what was the harm in letting her peek at a book or two? She handled the large volumes with an adult reverence, and spent hours absorbing all she could: Bible passages, translated French poetry. She absorbed it and chattered about it as much as possible to her brother.

Jacob didn't have the same vigor for education as his twin did, but he did seem to enjoy simply hovering about his sister. Even after she made a full recovery, the boy hovered and clucked and fretted like a mother, seemingly afraid that she might suddenly keel over on the spot.

When he wasn't watching his twin like a hawk, he spent hours in the kitchen, having warmed up to Marie. The head cook would slip his treats and regale him with more and more outlandish tales and jokes.

Even the guards, at first disgruntled at having their security measures be compromised by a couple of children had grown to like the eager rascals.

Which was a problem. Because Crawford was starting to get the sinking feeling that these children, now that they had begun to worm their way in, could not so easily be removed. He was not immune to their charms: Evie's intelligence made him...well, proud. And Jacob's energy, an aspect he had usually despised in his peers as a child, and even now as an adult, even now made him smile.

He'd gone beyond moral, Christian duties. He could feel himself actively beginning to care about their welfare. Hell, he caught himself looking up tutors for hire in the papers!

A Piece of Eden, perhaps? Some illness? What could cause this sudden change of behavior, this constant, swelling sensation in his chest?

"Empathy, love and a smidge of pity," Reginald drily proclaimed, pouring a fresh cup of tea at his elbow.

"That sounds ridiculous," Crawford shot back, sniffing disdainfully.

"And yet…" Reginald trailed off meaningfully. His employer scowled, sipping at his tea in lieu of a response.

"I could have them sent to the factories." Even as he said it, the notion made him feel slightly nauseous. Rambunctious Jacob, rendered exhausted after shoveling coal? Bright Evie, made to stifle her mind in favor of mindless sewing? It was a unique kind of wrong. 

"If you could bring yourself to do so, you'd have done it," his manservant said, reading his mind. Then he lowered his voice, barely breathing his thoughts into Crawford's ear. "Furthermore I fear something untoward happened at the last factory they were...employed."

"Untoward?"

"Neither Frye speaks of it but...I see how Young Jacob looks at me sometimes, how Miss Evie will flinch," the manservant murmurs. "I don't believe it happened more than once, or even completely, but I do think…I do think something started to happen, and that's the reason they fled."

Crawford never deluded himself in thinking he was a kind man, simply a pragmatic and necessary one. He'd manipulated, lied and arranged the forceful retirements of quite a few of his competitors. 

But there were lines even he didn't cross.

He'd always believed the labor of children to be a neccessary evil. He couldn't say he liked children losing fingers and toes or being crushed between gears, but it was the way the world worked. Until humanity could be trusted to guide itself, there had to be a firm hand to do so. The lower class ilk, the ones most likely to mindlessly jump onto the ideas of revolution, to rant and rave and mob, rarely had the mettle to handle the power they craved. One need only look to the French, after all.

It was a complicated situation. He knew, or at least suspected, the more illicit goings on in his factories, but he knew he wasn't going to run to the nearest one and throw the doors open. He wasn't in a position in which the shift from no child labor could allow him to stay on top of the competition. Not to mention the laying off of children would leave their families in even greater destitution.

There was no clear solution, and while morally there was a better defined path, morals weren't enough to save the world.

Then there was the Assassins. A society of knife-toting vagrants unable to comprehend the cycle of power in the world. Cutting down a few people didn't make the world free—it simply made it easier for the smarter, quieter ones, who thrived at the shadow of greatness, to step up and take their place. Scavengers, no matter how convinced you were of their seemingly genial nature could never change. Those who waited for power to come to them were as bad as the so-called power-hungry tyrants the Assassins claimed to battle. The only difference was one group was at least more honest than the other.

Power changed people not suited to seize and wield it, and those whom it did not rarely had the skill to survive their change of status.

Speaking of Assassins…"Have you heard from our spies?"

"Indeed, sir." The faithful manservant pulled a bundle of papers from his suit. "Just today." The loyal servant would never trust another to bring the papers to Crawford, nor would he tolerate simply putting it in the office unattended. Nothing less than the security of Crawford Starrick's very hand would do.

Crawford accepted the report and began to pour over the sordid tale of one Ethan Frye. It was the work of rumor following and document trails, ones buried and silenced when necessary and with brutal efficiency.

"I solemnly hope," Crawford began, "that this...Assassin is not looking to claim the title of 'father'".

"Grim news, sir?"

It was indeed. By all accounts in Crawley, Ethan Frye was a strange and dangerous man who had often disappeared for days or weeks on end on business he refused to elaborate on. His wife, a childhood sweetheart by the name of Cecily, often did the same even after her marriage until she conceived. Despite her husband's standoffish nature, his better half had the reputation of being fierce, yet kind and was apparently over the moon for the arrival of her child.

She had a double surprise, according to the wizened midwife, but she didn't live beyond the moment when she held and named her children.

From there accounts and rumors differed and changed but one thread of truth seemed to stay: Ethan Frye, bereaved by his wife's untimely end, left the town (and his newborn children) behind. Some said he fled due to debts. Others claimed he blamed the children. Others still whispered that he went mad with grief and tried to kill them. But one thing was clear: Ethan Frye had disappeared and/or died and effectively abandoned his children. The children were subsequently scooped up by their grandmother, who spirited them off to Wales.

"A nasty business," Reginald tutted, topping up the tea. 

"A fool man," Crawford sneered. "Assassins have no business breeding as is. Bad enough that they're determined to mold their little child soldiers. But apparently it's their nature to skulk and flee in all aspects of life."

"For all their talk of 'free will' and 'empathy'," Reginald agreed, "they're certainly not ones to extend it to their offspring."

"What do you expect?" Crawford snorted. "They're fanatical killers, not nurturers."

Reginald hummed. "In that case, sir, one might see it as the responsibility of the future Grandmaster of the London Order to rectify the sins of his enemy. Such as, perhaps, nurturing and expanding the horizons of two young, potential-filled youths."

"Subtle."

"I try, sir."

* * *

  
  


He doesn't tell them. He doesn't proclaim it to the sky or the papers. For all of his fondness for the finer things in life, Crawford Starrick was a pragmatic, down-to-earth man. Words have power, but he prefers actions.

And so he acts.

The twins are surprised and wary when a tutor is called in to further their education. Crawford never says anything, only asks how their lessons are going and what they've been learning over what are increasingly becoming family group meals.

The first time Evie begins to chatter to him unprompted over a plate of roast about the history they were taught that day, Crawford smiles.

The guest room, with it's single large bed, instead simply becomes their room, with two beds. The closets and drawers are quietly filled with new clothes and garments. Their worn boots are replaced with new ones.

Jacob takes a surprising interest in music, and one day a tutor is there to teach him how to play piano.

Crawford Starrick leans back in his chair, the excited chatter of the children—his children—washing over him.

Checkmate, Assassin.


End file.
